


Why Must There Be Glitter?

by a_xmasmurder



Series: Bucky Barnes Finds a Friend [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes also finds a Boyfriend, Bucky Barnes finds a Friend, First Kiss, Glitter, Lucky is Here!, M/M, Steve is a good friend, birthday bash, nose kisses, tony is an idiot, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:21:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3529187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_xmasmurder/pseuds/a_xmasmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky is surprised more than once today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Must There Be Glitter?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pangodillO](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pangodillO/gifts), [oulfis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oulfis/gifts).



> A couple days late because I was at work on the 10th and couldn't get writing on the 11th. So we are posting on the 12th. Hahahaa, I'm trash. Gonna change my name and move to Tahiti. It's a magical place.
> 
> Also, I am officially on the WinterHawk ship. Like, OFFICIALLY. 
> 
> For Oulfis and PangodillO because they like Bucky and his kitten :)
> 
> And there's 99 balloons. I realize I could have done a "99 Luftballoons" thing, but I don't think Bucky would appreciate that, and I don't think Tony would be _that_ fucking stupid.

“What?”

Bucky stalls in his bedroom doorway, the one that leads to the living room. He can’t believe whatever the fuck has happened here. He finally gets a decent amount of rest. He drags himself out of bed late for once. And now he's got an entire circus that exploded in his living room. There’s streamers and balloons and bright colored boxes all over the place. Little Shit is chirping and tearing into the largest one with reckless abandon. There’s soft jazz floating through the air; the smell of sweet things soaks everything.  _Holy shit, where the hell was I when this happened?_  

He blinks at the mess, running his metal hand through his hair. “What the hell?”

“You’re awake!” Clint is right there, in his face, and entirely too damned happy to be doing - well, whatever the hell he is doing here. Then again, he slept on the couch last night at the behest of Bucky, so Bucky supposes he's got every right to be bouncing around like a wallaby on crack at nine a.m. . Reason? Human compassion, something he and his therapist have been working on. They all have bad nights and bad days. Since he’d disappeared and showed up again a few months later, looking like shit and half barking mad, Clint’s been having some wicked screaming nightmares. The last round of it has lasted four nights in a row now and his rooms are right next to Bucky’s. Hearing that doesn’t help Bucky sleep. So Bucky tried a new approach and asked Clint if he wanted to try sleeping on the couch. Bucky considers Clint a friend, and Clint hasn't stabbed Bucky with a paperclip yet, so he tolerated the minor intrusion; in exchange, they learned two things about each other last night: having a very deadly someone in nearly the same room as him helps Clint sleep, and Bucky apparently snores. Loudly. Great. His therapist will be so fucking proud. "Lucky, Bucky's awake!" Oh, yeah. The dog comes with the Clint Barton deluxe package. Not that Bucky minds.

“If you call this awake.” Bucky’s grousing, but he just wants coffee and a cigarette. Now he’s worried that if he lights up something’s going to explode, and he’s not sure where his coffee maker is under all the baking supplies and boxes and - “Jesus, is that a pinata?” A glittery blue balloon bops into his head and floats away again. Little Shit finally breaks into the big box and knocks it onto the floor. Something thunks inside of it, and the kitten flies into the hallway out of self-preservation, probably. He can feel his left index finger twitching. Lucky licks at it.

Clint laughs at her and scrubs at his chest. “Hey. Uh, thanks for the sleep, Buck.”

“Yeah.” Bucky looks around at the carnival his room has become. “You do this?”

“Eh. Had some help.” Clint shrugs. “Good morning?” Something dings in the kitchen, and Clint brightens even more. “Ah-ha! Your cake is done!”

“Cake?” Bucky’s definitely not awake enough for this. He shakes his head. “Cake?”

“Yeah! Everyone gets a piece. Even your cat.” Clint calls from the kitchen. Bucky mouths the word ‘everyone?’ at his back. “Tony wanted to surprise you, hide everyone throughout the place, but Steve and I convinced him that would probably be the worst idea ever.”

“I’m missing something. Why would Stark want to...shit, nevermind, yeah, bad idea. Dumbass.” Bucky’s definitely missing something vital. He waves his hand. “I’m going to go wash my face. Don’t blow up my oven.”

“You wound me, good sir!” Clint laughs, and Bucky shakes his head again in bemusement as he goes back to his bedroom, snags some clothes off the dresser, and settles in the bathroom to stare at his expression in the mirror.

 _I’m missing something. Something big. What the hell is going on in my living room? There’s about a hundred balloons in there. There’s paper streamers. Boxes. Jesus, the boxes._ He stares into the mirror, at his dark circles and wide eyes. He hates how he looks when he just _knows_ he’s lost something important due to Hydra mindfucking him. There are things he will never remember again, like how he and Steve first met (Steve’s told him the stories time and time untold, but he just can’t remember) or how the candy from the old Jewish bakery a few blocks from his childhood home tastes (all he knows is that today’s saltwater taffy is wrong). He can’t tell you baseball scores, but he can rattle off about one hundred and eleven different weapons and how to use them, strip them and ship them without detection. He can tell you how to kill a man from meters or inches away. He can pilot a Quinjet, and he can take down a security firewall in less than a minute. But he can’t remember Steve’s favorite ice cream flavor. He can’t remember what Peggy Carter looked like after a rainstorm in Germany. He can’t remember Dugan’s birthday.

He is working his way into a fine fury, hearing people filtering into his apartment while he has this breakdown and getting half a mind to kick them all out and destroy everything that’s confusing him,  when the last thought stops him in his tracks. Dugan’s birthday. He narrows his eyes at the mirror, at himself. _No, Clint wouldn’t know Dugan. Only Steve knows Dugan, and I’m sure Steve wouldn’t throw a birthday party for a dead man…_

“Oh, fuck.” Bucky closes his eyes and laughs. “On one hand, I’m glad I just misplaced my own birthday.” Little Shit is at his elbow, yowling at him. He reaches across his body and scritches her shoulders. “But on the other hand, I don’t want to think about how old I am.” Little Shit mewls and headbutts his hand, and he laughs again. He runs cold water and splashes his face, then gets dressed. His hair, still long and getting longer, gets pulled into a hasty ponytail, and he forgoes socks and shoes. When he goes back out into the party room, everyone is there. Miss Potts has got a phone plastered to her ear, but she spares a quick hug and a mouthed ‘happy birthday’ for him. Banner nods at him and clears a spot on the couch to sit down with his tablet. Stark’s got three bottles of Russian Standard in his hands with little bows on the necks and a long box under his right arm.

“Happy birthday, Ice Breaker,” he says as he slides past Rhodey and Happy. Bucky nods, smiles. _Sure. Happy birthday. Great._ He rolls his eyes. Thor waves at him, and he waves back. _The gang’s all here._

Clint is mixing up frosting and directing breakfast preparations, happily munching away on a waffle. Natasha is actually cooking, which frightens Bucky a little. Kate Bishop - the other Hawkeye, Bucky remembers - is assisting, which frightens him even more. He pokes Sam in the shoulder. “Women are cooking.” Lucky appears at his hip and nudges his hand. Bucky looks down and pets the poor ignored pup.

Sam turns his head and nods, his eyes bright and gleeful. “Hey, birthday boy is here! And yes. Women are cooking.”

Bucky’s eyes widen as the figure nosing around in his fridge stands straight with a carton of eggs. It’s Hill. His hand freezes on Lucky’s head, and the dog pouts. Oh my god, no. “You don’t understand. _The_. Women. Are. _Cooking_ \- is that Sharon?” He peers at the blonde girl as she maneuvers around Hill and Natasha. “They are poisoning us and will take over S.H.I.E.L.D. . The Avengers will be women. Hawkeye’s already taken care of - hell, even the male version is assimilated, he can be Falcon -  Sharon will be Captain America, Nat’s already Black Widow, Hill will take over for Fury…” Bucky trails off as the smell of bacon reaches his nose. “Oh, but it will be a delicious way to die.”

“Who will be Iron Man?” Sam’s laughing at him.

“Miss Potts, of course!” Stark is right behind them now. “That’s a silly question. Heads up, Barnes.”

Bucky looks up in time to catch a wrapped box. More presents. He assumes there isn’t really a rule to today, so he tears off the paper and gapes at the set of obsidian knives. “Whoa. Thanks, uh...” He looks down at the wrapper. “Steve?” Steve’s in his vision now, grinning and giving him a big hug. “Happy birthday to me, I guess.” He waves the plastic box in the air. “Almost forgot.”

“You didn’t, and that’s what counts.” Steve sighs. “At least it’s a normal day. I had the unfortunate luck to be born on a holiday.” Steve grimmaces.

“Hey, at least you get legal fireworks!” Clint licks the spoon he used to stir the frosting. “That’s the best present ever.”

“Yeah, but think about it. Captain America’s birthday is on the Fourth of July.”

“How much more patriotic can you get?” Stark walks across the room and bats balloons out of the way. “By the way, planning your birthday bash as we speak.”

“No, we are not.” Steve groans and leans into their hug. Bucky grins into his shoulder.

“ _We_ are not. _I_ am. Shut up Rogers, you deserve only the best.”

Steve rolls his eyes and squeezes Bucky one more time, whispering, “If this gets overwhelming, just let me know, we’ll disappear.

Bucky smiles. “I’ll just kick everyone out at gunpoint. It’s my apartment.”

“This is true.”

Bucky starts piling all the boxes and bags and something that resembles a crossbow - _that’s got to be from Clint and Kate_ \- into a corner and clears off his coffee table for breakfast. Little Shit immediately tears into one of the softer presents and absconds with a soft grey t-shirt. Bucky huffs. It is overwhelming already, but he’s handled worse. Up until a couple minutes ago, he hadn’t even known his birthday is today. Now there’s bacon and eggs and cake and presents and these goddamned _balloons_ everywhere -

Something above his head twitches, and he jerks his head up to see what it was, only to get a face-full of glitter. He closes his eyes in time to avoid _that_ disaster waiting to happen, but is left spitting a few times in an attempt to get the horrible shit out of his mouth.

“Aw, glitter, no.” Clint is covered in sugar and grinning like he won the lottery. “That was supposed to go off when we started singing.”

“I’m going to _kill_ you!” Bucky growls and rushes into the kitchen, missing Clint by mere millimeters. Everyone is laughing, which is a nice change from when he first arrived and everyone stayed away from him. He doesn’t want to smile, but he does anyway. _Damn it, Clint._ He rounds the table and chases the infuriating man to the back hall, cursing and spitting the whole way. He can’t help the laugh that burbles out of him when he finally corners Clint in the storage room, where he keeps the crap he doesn’t want to look at every day. Clint is gasping out his laughter as he collapses onto a crate of things Bucky won’t let himself look at anymore. Little Shit is in the room, sitting on Bucky’s new shirt and watching the whole thing with bemusement. Bucky ignored her and tackles the son of a bitch, pinning him to the crate. “You will not make it out of here alive, shithead.” He lowers his voice and narrows his eyes for effect, even though he knows his eyes are dancing with mirth and his lips are betraying him once more. “Glitter. Did you have to use -”

Clint kisses him. Just a light peck on his lips, but it’s a kiss.

Bucky freezes up, taken completely and utterly off-guard. His hands dig into the crate on either side of Clint’s head. He can’t take his eyes off of Clint’s forehead. There’s glitter falling out of his hair onto Clint’s skin. Clint. Clint, Clint, Clint. Everything is Clint at the moment. _The crazy bastard just kissed you, of course it is._ Bucky blinks. “Um.”

Clint leans his head up, slowly, and plants another quick little peck on Bucky’s nose. “Happy birthday, tough guy. I’ll strangle you for shooting Nat later, but right now I’d like it if you kiss me back.”

Bucky blinks again. He moves his gaze from Clint’s forehead to Clint’s glittery lips. He shakes his head vigorously, and glitter goes flying. In the middle of Clint’s happy shouts, Bucky kisses him back, taking time to savor the experience this time. Clint’s lips are sticky, sweet, and chapped, but Bucky doesn’t care. They hum at each other and continue kissing at a lazy pace.

Little Shit, noticing that neither one of them are going to move anytime soon, pads over and settles into a bun between Bucky’s shoulderblades.

“Fuckin’ cat.” Bucky groans when one of Clint’s thighs nestles between his legs. “Christ.”

“There we go. Got your attention?”

“Yeah. Happy birthday to me.”

**  
**  
  
  


Someone’s saved a plate for each of them on the table, and Little Shit dives into her plate of eggs with abandon. In the living room, space has been made for a Halo split-screen match. Sam and Steve are stomping the shit out of Hill and Natasha, and the girls are not happy, considering the steady stream of smack-talk and filth rolling out of Hill’s mouth. Clint chuckles and shares his bacon with Lucky. “I should have already been aware that Maria’s got a mouth on her, but I wasn’t. How is this possible?”

Bucky shrugs and groans as more glitter falls into his oatmeal. “Ugh, why did you do glitter? I look like a clown threw up on me.” Little Shit reaches over and pulls a strip of bacon off his plate, and Bucky slaps his hand down to catch it. “Oh, no you don’t, devil.”

Suddenly, there’s more people in the room with them. Clint squawks, and Bucky stares Phil Coulson straight in the face. “Hi. You are supposed to be dead.”

“You too. Looks like we both got lucky. Happy birthday.” Coulson hands over a packet with a tiny red bow on it. “You all ship out tonight. Enjoy your day.” He walks away. “And if you hurt him, I’ll rip you apart.”

Bucky looks down at it. Holy crap. It’s the one thing he asked for when he walked into the interrogation room months ago. Everything S.H.I.E.L.D. has on Hydra. Everything. It’s worryingly thin. He looks back up, but Coulson is gone. “Thanks?” He turns to Clint, whose fork is halfway to his mouth. He’s got a strange look on his face. “What did he mean, ‘If you hurt him -’?”

“It means you are going to actually die, I think.” Clint stares. “I’d be afraid. I know him. I’d be very afraid.”

Thor slaps Bucky on the back, nearly toppling him to the floor. “No worries, Winter Soldier. You are in good hands. None of us would ever let you damage the Hawk.”

Bucky rolls his eyes and coughs a few times. “I wouldn’t - hold on.” He turns around. “Why is everyone so damned concerned about Clint all of a sudden?”

“He’s covered in glitter, you meathead!” Steve shouts from the living room. “Boom! Headshot!”

“You fucking geriatric douchecake!” Hill did something drastic with the controller, and Sam howled. “Got you back, dickwad!”

“That was me, Maria! I didn’t take you out with a head shot!” Sam scowled at the screen. “Damn it. Damn it! Respawned and dead again!”

“Oops,” Natasha said, grinning.

Bucky shakes his head. “What the hell does glitter have to do...with...aw, fuck.” He groans. “GLITTER.”

Clint winces. “Happy birthday?”

“Hell, since everyone knows anyway.” Bucky bumps hips with Clint and wraps his metal arm around him. With a little flourish, he tips Clint back at the waist and kisses him soundly to the hoots and hollers of everyone in the apartment. He breaks the kiss, looks at Clint’s flushed face, and whispers, “A _very_ happy birthday to me.”

**  
**  
  
  



End file.
